


When Christmas Comes (A Tale Behind Those Closed Curtains)

by shezzsmaug



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shezzsmaug/pseuds/shezzsmaug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody is happy when Christmas come. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft, even Sherlock. Everybody. Everybody but John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Christmas Comes (A Tale Behind Those Closed Curtains)

John is gazing steadily outside from his bedroom, where the light winter snow is start falling, beating softly at his windowpane and covering everything outside in white. But the cheerful twinkling glowing lights and Christmas decorations filled the street ultimately triumph the pale colour. From the distance away, probably brought by the blowing December wind, he can vividly hear the clear voice of the carollers singing “let it snow” and a beautiful Christmas medley. It is the Christmas evening and its warm atmosphere felt everywhere in London.

Inside the flat, the Christmas ambience felt even stronger, where he can find the fire cracking, burning the log gently inside the fireplace to keep the entire people inside the flat warm from the cold winter night, as flown the fluffy and cheerful white smoke up the chimney. There’s no stocking hanging to it, though, or a shinning Christmas tree standing tall next to it but just some mistletoe leaves and little sparkling Christmas lights decorating the room and some gifts wrapped in red and green lying on the table which are enough to make it all Christmassy. The Mrs. Hudson’s home-made gingerbreads smelled all over the room melted with the aroma of a good wine poured onto the tall glass as Sherlock begins playing his violin beautifully.

John can hear that downstairs Lestrade and Molly and even Anderson have stopped by to see everyone else there. They’re saying hello and embracing and chattering and drinking and joking around happily. Even he hears Sherlock laugh one or two times at their jokes. The whining tall man seems to be more human gradually now, after being around with him for years and that is good. Yes, everyone’s laughing and smiling and embracing and the world’s singing, celebrating, rejoicing.

Everybody is happy.

Everybody.

Everybody except John.

It has been almost a year by now, his wife’s accident which took her life away forever. John at first was grieving, of course, which forced him to move back to Baker Street from his cold and lonely grey apartment. But John is a good little soldier, he can get by without her and live a happy normal life he had with Sherlock. Helping his best friend in solving crimes, he can slowly forget his grieves and go on with his life.

It has been almost a year by now. John has gone through a beautiful spring time with those pretty flowers which wipes away his moan while the soft new grown grass starts growing together with his tough spirit. A good summer has visited him to cheer his life better. And when the lovely autumn came he’s been able to forget almost all of his sadness. Every other season has come along and he’s alright. But not until the snow begins to fall. Not until Christmas time is in the air again. Not until now.

John cannot fathom how much he is now missing his already-gone lovely wife. Below in the darkness in the sky outside, John is remembering when Marry was his. Their memories together are irresistible emblazoned in his now fragile mind; all of their ups and downs. The first time he met her on a December evening and, just like the snow, they easily fell down in love; the time when he proposed to her with those little problems caused by an annoying anonymous waiter; the time they first declared them a husband and wife coloured with a murder trial; the first time they knew Mary’s carrying; the months of not having conversation which ended up in such a sweet, sweet forgiving; the first time they saw their beautiful blonde baby-girl, Helena; and many other glorious memories of theirs. He cannot help but drop two small tears down in his bitter smile before loads more stream down his face. He misses her like so much. All he wants now is to have her in his arms, to hug and never let her go.

John’s wet eyes are still fixed outside when Sherlock comes in without knocking the door. He seems uncharacteristically happy with the fact that people are around him. Maybe he is trying to humanize himself.

“John, the Christmas dinner is ready. Let’s go do-... John?”, Sherlock ventures carefully, taking one step closer behind the man standing frozen, knowing that something is really wrong with his flatmate. “John, what happens, John?” Sherlock questions with curiosity.

“I am not hungry, Sherlock. Just go and leave me alone”, answers John quickly, though he feels a little bit disappointed after hearing his own answer which sounds too harsh than what he was expecting.

“O-okay John”, Sherlock’s leaving for downstairs, suddenly aware that it cannot be not about Mary’s death. He decides that maybe it’s best to give John a moment of silence, giving him privacy. And that’s what he’s doing now.

***

It is three o’clock in the morning. The temperature outside is dropping as the snow falls heavier. The melodies of Christmas sung by the children are no longer there to be listened to. Everybody has left and Mrs Hudson has gone to her room. It is all quiet and silent. Only Sherlock wrapped warm in his red dressing gown left alone in the kitchen, busying himself quite immensely with an experiment to keep himself from the dangerous boredom since he’s feeling wide awake.

Sherlock is examining a hair under his favourite microscope when John comes downstairs. John looks a bit paler and her eyes are reddish and somewhat swollen. Sherlock tries his best to focus on his experiment and not to give any comments for he still believes that John needs a quiet moment. The man who never feels love whatsoever before is indeed proved to be able to own a slight compassion on his miserable flatmate.

Sherlock is attempting to give his best focus on the object under the microscope when suddenly his blogger asks, “Busy?”

Sherlock smiles gently and lifts his head to John, “Just passing the time. Feeling better now, are you?”

“I-, I-, I don’t know, I’m not sure. I feel numb”, John takes a chair and sits next to the detective.

“Letting go ain’t easy. It’s just exceedingly hurtful”, Sherlock whisper a soft sing-song, unexpectedly. “I heard that from the radio, the art of letting go, John. It’s a good song, by the way.”

“You-, you ever let go someone?”, John asks flatly.

“You know I’m a sociopath, John, and I do not do caring. Caring for me is not an advantage and therefore I don’t feel pain of losing someone. But I was not a sociopath when I was a little... And yes I did let go someone.”

“Really?”, John raises his left eyebrow.

“Oh yes. But not-, not really someone. It was something actually, but for me... it was someone”, Sherlock voice sounds much softer and a level deeper.

“Really?”, John repeats the same question and places his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and Sherlock doesn’t seem mind about it. “What or who was it?”

“You remember Magnussen mumbling something when he visited our little apartment? Yes. It was Redbeard. Redbeard was a dog. My dog. I loved him so much. And when I say so much, it means truly so much, John.”

“What happened?”

“Basically it boiled down to the story that Redbeard was put down by a stranger. I suppose it was my bother’s childhood enemy, you know, children’s feud. I wonder why?” Sherlock stopped to take a deep breath, an irresistible sorrow shown in his eyes, “... well but it was years ago.” Sherlock glances at John eyes.

“Are you mad?”, John mumbles softly, his head is still tied on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I was mad but I’m not now,” Sherlock cracks a smile. John lifts his head to look deeply at Sherlock. All of sudden, the detective realizes something and says abruptly, “-um... err... John, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to-, to-, to compare your wife with Redbeard. I just-, I just want to sh-, um, you know, to-, to cheer you a bit. I know I’m not good at-”

“No, Sherlock. It’s alright”, John chuckles. “You’ve tried your best and it works. I feel better now. Thanks.”

“..so, um-, John, do you still miss your-, your Mary?”, Sherlock asks carefully.

John sighs deeply, “Yes of course, I miss her most at Christmas time. How could I not? But yeah, it’s over. Nothing I can do. I’ll just let it slide.”

“It’s good, John. It’s good,” Sherlock whispers with a smile, “Go to sleep, John. You look a bit miserable. I really hate seeing my doctor this way. I’ll just continue this thing for a moment.”

“Right.” John stands up and walks slowly to his bedroom. Sherlock stars at the tired back vanishing behind the wall before he continues his experiment.  
It cannot be more than 3 minutes when John rushes back to the kitchen to give the tall man a big embrace and drown his head on his strong chest and cry like a girl. “Sherlock...”

“John?”

“Sherlock...I-, I-,”

“It’s okay John, I’m here for you. You have me, John.” Sherlock hugs John even tightly. John somehow feels warm and safe.

“I know. You give me strength to face another morning, Sherlock. Thank you. And heaven knows you’re not a bloody sociopath,” John giggles between sobbing.

“Yeah, I suppose sometimes I’m not, especially when having my little soldier around and cry in my chest,” Sherlock chuckles. “Promise me one thing, John.”

“What is it?”

“That this is the last time you cry. You can cry as long as you want now but this will be the last time. I don’t like seeing you cry. It-, it surprisingly breaks my heart. Promise, for me?”

“Promise.”

“Merry Christmas, John”, Sherlock presses a soft kiss in John’s forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock”

It is the cold winter in December where the two best friends in the world are hugging each other circled by a sweet friendship atmosphere, not just to warm their body, but also their hearts. And if it doesn’t start anywhere, the deeper relation between the two men, whatever it is, starts here, in a happy Christmas morning.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Sorry for the unnatural language use.  
> Inspired by some songs by Mariah Carey.
> 
> Comments are really appreciated :)


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